Memory Lane
by just-passing-time
Summary: Some memories are better left forgotten, but forgetting everything has only made things worse for the broken Grey Warden Nallia Tabris. Set after the defeat of the Archdemon.
1. Alone

Well, I must say it; I'm in love with a video game. Don't judge me.

Anyways, this isn't a bunch of one shots like I usually do, so I hope people bare with me.

Bioware owns everything, I'm just their insane pupper master thanks to good 'ol fanfiction.

Anyways, enjoy.

* * *

MEMORY LANE

I

"_So, tell me if you've heard this joke; 'So, a bastard Warden becomes a king...' Yeah, that's it. It's short, but I'm working on it," I jested._

_She raised an eyebrow at me sceptically, crossing her arms atop her chest upon rising from the chair that sat before the dying fire. I received no mirth filled smile, much to my disappointment._

"_I fail to see the humorous side," she replied uninterestedly._

_Come on, Alistair, cut to the chase already. She already knows what's coming, she's no fool. There's no point prologuing the inevitable with terrible and meaningless jesting. _

"_Look, Nallia," I frowned lightly. "We need to talk." _

_I sighed, reaching out to clasp her small hand within my own clammy one; selfishly hoping to borrow some of her strength through the simple touching of our bodies. I clasped my fingers around her hand, her skin unusually cold. She looked down at my imposing hand with a deep set frown, recoiling from me with the sharp withdrawal of her own. She took a small step back and out of my reach, recrossing her arms._

"_Say what you have to say, Alistair," she ordered of me. _

_Her tone was void of any emotion, and I barely recognised the stoic woman before me. _

_I felt my throat constrict and my stomach knot. I yearned to hold her, tell her everything was alright. I wished to tell her that nothing had changed. I was never a very good liar though. _

_More than anything, though, I wanted to see her smile. _

_I cleared my throat and started speaking in a mad, awkward rush. Each word seemed to flow into the next. _

"_You realise that, now that I'm king, I'm expected to have an heir to the throne," I paused. _

_I couldn't understand her usually easy to read expression. She was usually such an extrovert, yet here she stood, silent and impassive. _

"_It's not going to be easy for one person with the taint, but _Two_ Wardens' of the Greyish Hue trying to have children together? It's not possible. I'll never be able to produce an heir with another Warden," I finished lamely. _

"_Cut the crap, Alistair," she hissed. _

_Her eyes were glared into slits and I knew she didn't appreciate my pathetic excuses. _

"_I know the real reason as to why you can't ―neigh, you _refuse_― to be with me," Nallia said. _

_Her voice started in a quite waver, but rose as she let her anger fuel her. _

_I closed my eyes as I took a deep calming breath, releasing a wavering breath of air as I opened my eyes. She watched me with nothing at sadness in her eyes, no sign of empathy. She hid behind her show of anger and drew strength from it. _

"_You refuse to stay with me for the simple fact that I have pointed ears. So don't make other excuses, tell me the truth," she spat. "I deserve at least that after all we've been through together." _

_I wanted to tell her it wasn't true, I wanted to say that I would never leave her simply because she was an elf. I wanted to say it wasn't because she was from an alienage. I bit my tongue; such hollow words would do no good._

_Her voice calmed slightly as she took a deeply racking breath. She ran her hands through her closely cropped hair, her pale slim fingers knotting the dark, unruly mess further. _

"_You're the _king _now, Alistair," she said more quietly. "You make the laws, you can _change_ things. You're going to let a little discrimination stop us from being together? Nobody can tell the king what he can and cannot do."_

_An undertone of desperateness clung to her plea. _

_I sighed, knowing that it could not be, could _never_ be. An elven queen would not be accepted by the greater population of Ferelden, no matter how much I wished it so. _

"_Nallia, don't make this harder than it already is for me," I begged of her. _

_Shaking her head, the harsh woman returned; her steel grey eyes cold and hard. She glared at me._

"_Hard? You think _this _is hard?" _

_She gave a dark, humourless chuckle that I never wished to hear from her again. It was so different to her usually merry and carefree laughter, the type that shook her body and left her gasping for air as she would wipe away joyous tears. _

"_I hope your crown keeps you warm at night," she hissed quietly, "Because you're going to lead a very lonely life, _yourhighness_."_

_She spat my title as if it were some kind of curse. _

_And it _was_ a curse as far as I could see. _

_I'd prefer it if she'd lashed out at me and called me an arse, or even yelled at me for being weak. I'd have preferred anything other than this plain and hurtful truth. I looked to the cobble floor with downcast eyes. _

"_Sacrifices have to be made," I whispered. "I accept my fate." _

_She was the one who put me in this position; she could have chosen Anora to rule Ferelden. It was _her_ fault. _

_The thoughts of blame passed as quickly as they had come, however. I simply could not point my finger at her. I knew that Anora was never a valid candidate. The cunningly deceptive woman would be Ferelden's ultimate downfall. We'd both been pushed into a corner. _

_She'd done what she had to do. Now, I was doing what _I_ had to do. Things were the way they had to be. There was no escaping it._

"_Maybe I should not have chosen someone so weak to be king," she spat. _

_Her eyes were aflame with fury now. I don't know if I preferred this or the cold, hollow woman from before. _

"_I'm sorry you feel that way," I said feebly. _

_She said nothing, choosing to simply watch me with her smouldering eyes._

"_I'm sorry too," she spat. _

_Turning on her heel she retreated from the room, her stride even and regal. She pushed roughly past her fellow rogue Zevran, whom I only now noticed standing transfixed in the doorway. He bore an intense frown; one that I knew better than to assume was a show of concern or anything akin to such an emotion. It was but a look of deep thought. _

_I clenched my shaking fists, turning away from the Antivian. I scrunched my eyes tightly shut, hiding the true depth of my hurt. I heaved in a great gulp of air before speaking next. _

_My voice wavered, but I said what I had to. _

"_When you, no doubt, go to _comfort_ Nallia tell her that we're to make for Redcliffe as soon as possible," I issued to him formally._

_A few moments passed before I received a sceptical reply. _

"_Why is it that you cannot simply tell her yourself?" he pressed. "I do not wish to start passing notes between the two of you." _

_I took another calming breath, I didn't need this. Shaking my head slowly I bit back an angry retort, knowing that it would do no good to take out my frustration on the cocky elf. _

"_I'm heading back to camp," I replied evenly. "I need to… I need to be alone for a while." _

_The assassin said nothing more, silently leaving in search of the other elf. Moments passed and I opened my itching eyes, greeted with the sight of the dying fireplace and the flimsy wooden chair she'd been sitting on once more. _

_A few cinders remained within the smoking alcove, and with it lay a shrivelled item that caught my eye. I frowned at the sight of it, not knowing what it was and why it had caught my attention so. _

_My heart seemed to slow and I understood. _

_It was a rose, burnt and shrivelled almost completely beyond recognition. It was the rose _I'd_ given her. _

_The dam broke and I let out a strangled yell of desperation, my breathing shallow and uneven. I lashed out at the chair and sent it flying against the cold stone wall of Eamon's estate with one hard kick. The wood splintered beyond repair upon immediate impact. _

_I felt no better. _

_My shoulders heaved with my heavy breaths, and my heart hammered in my chest. Another strangled noise escaped my tightly pursed lips. _

_I pressed my face into my shaking hands, stumbling backwards until my back found the wall. There I simply slid into a sitting position, pulling my knees up before my face like that of a pathetic child. My face hidden in my hands, I sat, choking back forceful sobs into my hands. _

_She was right. _

_I'd always be alone. _

* * *

"I demand justice be wrought!"

And I demand peace and quiet. It's healthy to want.

I sighed, squirming in my seat so as to regain feeling in my tingling arse. Cringing at my immediate discomfort I added 'order more pillows for the throne' onto my to-do list. It was right above greeting the newly Joined Grey Wardens and ordering finer made weapon's for my army. I have my priorities.

"The damnable elf attacked me. In my own home, what's more," the demanding noble continued. "She brutally lashed out at me. I demand compensation. I demand restitution!"

Is there anything that he _doesn't _demand? Well, apart from being abused by his elf slave, apparently not much.

His face was flustered in anger at the _unthinkable wrong_ that had befallen innocent he. Why would one wish to hurt someone as _oh-so-tolerable_ as you, I wonder? Again, I did nothing to suppress my sigh.

Rubbing my hand over the bridge of my nose, I shook my head slowly.

"What did you do to receive such treatment from the elf?" I asked of him begrudgingly.

I wished to be rid of him. I wished to retreat to the confines of my chamber. I wished I weren't king. I wished… I wished many things.

His eyes widened as if such a question on my behalf was unthinkable, were I anyone else, he would have lashed out, I knew this. However, I was the king, to do so would be asking for a new home behind bars.

"She spoke out of line," he replied regally. "When I applied disciplinal measures, she hit me."

Oh, the audacity. I rolled my eyes. It's tick for tack, if you ask me.

"What, pray tell, were such disciplinal measures that you carried out?" I pressed.

I knew the answer already, but I wished to hear him say it.

The noble in question shied away from me for the barest of moments. He quickly regained his ever regal posture, however. His spine was no doubt supported so rigidly by the elongated stick he forever had up his noble arse.

"I apply the effective use of physical motivation amongst numerous other age old disciplinary methods," he replied vaguely.

I raised an eyebrow. He was trying to avoid simply stating that he'd hit her. I'd have to say it for him, it seemed.

"So, you hit her _first_?" I pushed.

He stuttered incoherently for a matter of moments before frowning indignantly.

"I am not on trial here, your majesty," he reverted.

I'm the king, am I not? I can trial whomever I deem fit, or _unfit_, as the case would have it.

It seemed he wasn't finished in his refreshingly improper tirade, however.

"The dirty elf that dared step out of line should, at the very least, be slapped in gallows for what she's done. She deserves no better. The elf should not forget her place, it sets a bad example," as an after thought, he added, "my King."

He could have called me 'Your Awesomeness' or 'Oh Greatly Witty One Who is By Far More Handsome Than Myself', (Oh Great One, for short), and it wouldn't have made any difference. He'd already tarnished the name I'd been desperately trying to build for the elves. There was no escaping the grave he'd dug so thoroughly for himself.

His face was blemished with a growing red hue, his anger barely held in check.

I glared my eyes at the sudden direction of conversation. It was no longer about a servant stepping out of place; it was about the hierarchy of humans in comparison to the elves. Placing my hands atop each arm rest, my previous discomfort forgotten, I stood. The guards placed at each entrance snapped to attention at my sudden action.

"The elves," I started monotonously.

It would not do for me to loose my temper.

"The elves have earned their status as equal citizens after the most previous Blight," I stated through tightly clenched teeth. "You'd do well to remember that it was a _dirty elf_ that saved your worthless hide along with that of all of Ferelden, nearing on five years ago. Or have you forgotten already?"

My voice rose with each word. Taking a deep breath I attempted to calm myself once more, bottling the fury that I wished to release upon him and all those that still spoke ill of the elves. It seemed my vision of equality of races within Ferelden was more idealistic than achievable.

The noble hung his head, trying to hide the fury in his eyes with a feint of shame. He pathetically fell to one knee, avoiding eye contact.

"My most," he paused, "_humble_ apologies, your highness."

I closed my eyes, regaining my calm charade.

"Get out of my sight," I commanded.

I sighed, knowing that I would not hear the end of it were he to leave angry at me. It would bode ill for me were I to piss of _every _noble within Denerim. I was high on the way to doing so.

Again, I sighed.

"You shall be issued a new servant to fill the elf's place, but it is she that shall receive the compensation money. She shall receive such for being unjustly released from her current job for doing naught but defending herself. Have your guards bring her to the coffer's to speak with my treasurer."

He glared his eyes at me, but said nothing more on the matter.

Maybe I could've handled that a lot better, but I found that I didn't care.

"You're dismissed," I issued formally.

By the Maker's Balls, whilst he's at degrading the status of Denerim's elves in my own castle, he might as well mock the Grey Wardens, spit on Ferelden's slave-turned-Warden hero, and scrutinise my choice of not having taken a wife after being on the throne for near five years. I didn't wish to talk to him for a moment longer lest he unknowingly touch upon yet another sensitive topic in his noble obnoxiousness. I don't think I'd be able to take any more.

With haste, he rose from his kneeling position, offering a clipped bow; as forced as it was mocking. With hurried steps that echoed throughout the now quiet chamber, he retreated from my smouldering gaze.

With a fake smile of mirth, I fell back atop that of my intolerably uncomfortable throne. With a shake of my head I admitted another smile that did not reach my eyes. It never did.

"Well, that was fun," I said sarcastically.

I was offered no reply from that of the numerous royal guards that stood vigilantly within the room. With a crestfallen sigh, the all too familiar feeling of aloneness crept in once again. I always felt alone here, despite the apparent hustle and bustle of my castle and the guards that stood but a few feet from me, ready to follow through with my every whim.

I'd never felt more alone than I did as the king of an entire country of people.

As loud as it was sudden, a commotion sounded from the entrance of the castle. Voices called out in warning, and the metallic _hiss_ of swords being released from their sheaths rang clearly.

Adrenaline pumped through my veins and I felt my smile grow at the prospect of a fight of sorts, _anything_ more than simply sitting here.

I made to rise from my current position once more.

Before I could stand, however, a lithe figure bounded within the room, several guards shadowing him, their weapons drawn.

My guest in question, however, seemed unfazed by such unwelcoming reception. Andastre's tight perky arse, he seemed more amused than anything. What an odd reaction to being surrounded by nearing on ten guards. The only person I know that would react like that is…

Then I recognised him; his sleek blond hair tied away from his face, a simple decorative braid hanging loose, flawless tanned skin, dagger-sharp ears…

I didn't know what reaction to give upon my old comrade's unexpected arrival. I found myself feeling a well of thankfulness and hope rise within me. It was the very same feeling I received whenever news of my past companions found me.

It gave me hope knowing they were all okay, that they had found peace in their own lives. Most of all, it gave me hope thinking that they might one day come bearing news of a new danger which would _regrettably_ steal me away from my position atop the throne for at least a short time.

It was selfish, but I had thought that every hero got happy endings. What wrong had I done to not deserve mine? I'd been unjustly cheated of my happy ending. Maker and all his prophets be damned.

"Zevran," I greeted.

I gave the new arrival a smirk and a curt nod.

Upon noting my reaction to the obviously Antivian stranger, the guards stood down, if not a little lamentably. They did, however, keep their weapons tightly in hand as they returned to their given posts.

"Ah, my king," Zevran gave a mocking flourish of a bow, mirth clear in his light brown eyes. "It would seem that kingliness does not suit you quite as well as I'd expected. A shame you do not wear the crown more often though, that ―if I do recall correctly― brought out your eyes rather flatteringly."

I hid my thankfulness at the fact that he still treated me much the same with a show of sarcasm.

"True, the throne is somewhat of a nuisance, yet I cannot help but revel in the fact that I can throw whoever I wish into prison with but a snap of my royal fingers."

"Why? When you could do such more fulfilling things with said fingers, no? At least, that is what our previous leader used to say with a twinkle in her merry eyes."

An uncomfortable cough sounded from one of the guards, whilst others looked on in either confusion or looks of shock akin to beached fish.

I simply shook my head, a dry smirk returning to my lips.

Not that I didn't appreciate some fresh company, but it would be foolish of me to think that he was simply here for a social call. Last I'd heard he was travelling through Antiva in search of The Crows. He'd been accompanied by the previously mentioned Grey Warden; our fearless leader, Nallia Amell.

I'd never quite understood why she enjoyed the assassin's company. By the Maker, I'd never even understood why she tolerated him, let alone called him friend. I'd understood why she'd chosen to leave with him, however. I understood why she would not ―_could _not― lead Denerim's army, as I'd hopefully offered to her. Upon my naming of king I'd pushed her away, and she'd retaliated in kind, seeking willing comfort elsewhere.

I'd learnt the hard way that time did not heal all wounds, contrary to popular belief.

Something that did not add up, however, was the apparent lack of the said Warden. I hadn't heard news of the two parting ways. If such a thing were to have happened I'd surely have heard of it. Gossip within Denerim travelled like wild fire on lithium. Plus I'd kept a trained ear out, even to this day, about any news concerning her.

I hid my curiosity as best I could, but upon looking over Zevran's shoulder in hopes of catching some clue as to her whereabouts, he smirked knowingly.

I'd been caught out.

I gave a sheepish smirk.

"I guess I shall cut straight to the chase, hmm? You are obviously busy, what with sitting on a throne looking important. It must be tiring, I'm sure," Zevran mocked.

More beached fish expressions from my guards.

I chuckled lightly, shaking my head as a relaxed sensation took over me in reply to our casual banter.

"You have no idea," I replied feinting earnestly. "You loose feeling in your arse and if you curl your legs up under you the feeling in _them_ goes away instead. So I am left with the choice of forgoing the feeling in either my arse or both my legs. Whoever thought being a king would be filled with such difficult decisions?"

The elf offered a small chuckle.

"I'm sure," he said. "Now, before I forget why it is that I've graced you with my wonderful presence, I really do insist we find somewhere more private to talk."

Usually I would have jokingly insinuated some form of innuendo upon being asked to converse in private with someone, but the look of seriousness that had befallen the elf told me that this was no joking matter.

I found myself frowning in reply to his sudden change in demeanour.

"Of course," I replied simply. "I'll show you to my chambers. We shall have some privacy there."

I rose from my place atop the throne, groaning earnestly. I'd bested dark spawn, Oghren's home brewed ale, dragons, and archdemons alike. Nothing pained me more than sitting atop that damnable seat. I rubbed at my backside, hoping to return feeling to it.

The Antivian assassin raised a perfectly arched eyebrow in reply to my action, a roguish smile creeping upon his thin lips.

"Do you require some help with that?" he asked innocently.

My hands immediately stilled in their rubbing motions and the gaping of the guard's continued.

This time I mimicked the reaction of the guards as I second-guessed the decision of talking to him _alone_ in my chambers.

The feeling was quick to be replaced with amusement, however.

What was the world coming to? I'd even missed the damn assassin and his open-mindedness, regardless of how incessantly ill placed his attention sometimes was.

"Before we leave, can I have a spoiler? The suspense is simply killing me," I pressed. "Quickly, before I become the first king to ever die of means other than poison or battle. I don't wish to forever be known as 'Alistair: That guy who managed to die from suspense,' you know," I made a flourish in the air before me as I ranted. "I promised myself a long time ago that I would _never_ bear that title."

I walked down the few steps that led to my throne towards the elf in question. He bore an amused smile, but shook his head apologetically.

"It's about Nallia, I shall tell you that much," he admitted, "More than that I shall not say here."

I felt my chest constrict painfully at the mention of her name. I thought of her often, true, but for five long years I hadn't heard her name said aloud. It was always 'The Hero of Ferelden' this, or 'Our Grey Lady' that. Her name being spoken aloud sounded foreign to my ears. The small flutter in my stomach and the well of despair that followed, however, was something I was all too accustomed to.

"Suspense, we meet again," I muttered.


	2. Fuel

Thanks for the reviews, here's another that I hope you enjoy.

Also, I'm going to make it habit to start off each chapter with a flashback of events that took place within the war against the Blight, (in italics, of course. You can't have flashbacks without slightly slanted writing.)

Enjoy...

* * *

II

FUEL

"_So whoever kills the Archdemon _dies_?" Nallia pressed disbelievingly, "Typical."_

_She looked at the other Grey Warden, Riordan, with a hint of scepticism in her eyes. She shook her head, as if it were all just some sick, twisted joke. _

"_Well that sucks," I admitted hopelessly. _

"_Useful input, as always, Alistair," Nallia muttered darkly. _

_I offered her a mischievous grin that she chose to pointedly ignore._

"_I am sorry to be the one telling you this, but thus has always been the way," Riordan replied, "In death; sacrifice. I am the oldest, and the taint shall not allow me to live for much longer, thus it falls upon me to deliver the killing blow. Should I fall in battle before I can, however, one of you will have to carry on in my place." _

_I'd willingly give my life to save Nallia from such a fate. Even after everything that has transpired between us the past few days, _especially_ after everything. Recent dealings had changed nothing of how I felt about her. I doubted anything ever would. _

_Anyway, I should have fallen in battle a long time ago; it seems I would be the next best choice should Riordan kick the bucket before bringing down the Archdemon. _

_Nallia was shaking her head in disbelief. Her thin, dark brows were curved in a deep set frown. Her eyes hardened moments later, and a scowl set in place. _

"_I'd rather not if I could avoid it," she admitted stubbornly. "I should get to at least _live_ in the world I've saved, don't you think? Or don't I deserve some happiness?" _

_My chest constricted painfully and I avoided her angry, wandering gaze._

_I wished more than anything to simply be able to relieve her of her duties, but she was a Grey Warden, nothing would ―or _could_― change that. _

"_I shall deal the killing blow should Riordan fail to do so," I offered flatly. _

_I watched her from the corner of my eye. From the fiery glare she sent in my direction, my words had only seemed to anger her further, fuelling the fire in her eyes. _

"_What about being _king_?" she pressed with harsh, clipped words. "I thought that was where your obligations lay, _your highness_. Willing to dismiss your kingly duties as flippantly as you have everything else thus far?" _

_I openly flinched at her harsh words but kept my voice as impassive as possible as I spoke next. I looked to my right, staring her down. _

"_I would willingly give my life in service of Ferelden," I said simply. "I would not be so selfish as to do otherwise."_

_Within her eyes I saw flames of fury, but ―thankfully― my words had silenced her for a time. _

_I knew why she hid behind her shows of anger, something she was resorting to far more commonly as time passed. I understood it, and so I let it slide without thinking any less of her. I knew it was not selfishness that made her say such things. She had given so much; shed so much blood, sweat and tears to our cause. She was not a cruelly angry person by nature; it was the recent dark happenings that had shaped her as such. Anger was the only way she could deal with everything. Anger was the only way she knew _how_ to deal with everything. It was either that or curling up into a ball and giving up. We all had our methods for coping. I dared not question hers. _

_She ran off her anger and it was her last source of fuel. Without it, she would surely fall. Wi__thout_ her_, none of us stood a chance in the upcoming battle. __Where she got her strength made no difference. As long as it worked. _

_Sacrifices had to be made. _

_Little did Riordan know, Nallia had already made the greatest sacrifice of all. She'd sacrificed her very being; her anger would eventually burn out and consume her. She accepted such an inevitable fate with open arms. _

_It was all she could do if she wanted to win. _

* * *

He lent casually against one of my bed's four banisters, a polished grin on his smug face. I kept a safe distance from the elf, my arms crossed atop my chest indifferently.

"This is as alone as we're going to get, Zevran," I stated. "Come on, out with it, already."

I'd always been one to skip to conclusions, and now was no different. I could only think of only one reason as to why Zevran would be here alone. I could think of only one thing he could have to talk about upon the topic of my fellow Grey Warden. Was she…? No, I couldn't think such things.

The elf admitted a dry chuckle, shaking his head with his wry smile still in place. He'd obviously guessed the unbidden thoughts that were swirling through my mind. I'd never been very good at covering up my true feelings, being King for five years had not changed this.

"Rest assured, our dear lady is not dead," he offered bluntly.

I released a small breath of air I had not realised I'd been holding and felt a great weight lifted from my shoulders. The feeling of calm was quick to pass, however. The question as to _why_ he was here remained.

"In fact," he grinned, "she's within the walls of Denerim as we speak."

He said nothing for a few moments more, trying to seize up my reaction to such news. I don't know what he saw on my face, but a humourless smile was what I was granted in reply.

Truthfully, I did not know how to react to such news. She'd not returned to Denerim since my coronation as King, let alone touched the city with a ten foot pole in the time between. The fact that she had chosen not to see me, sending Zevran instead, bore heavily upon my heart. So she had not forgiven me, even now. Regardless, the very fact that she was within the city chased away such hurtful truths with fleetingly naive thoughts of hope, feelings that I dared not question lest they fritter away from my tight grasp.

"I fail to see why this news had to be shared within the confines of my chamber. Denerim would be happy to know their hero has returned," I pressed sceptically. "Or is this a new service you're offering in which you'll come to see me every day telling me that she is _not_ dead."

I blandly thought of how ironic such a service would be. I'd be forever dreading the day that Zevran would _not_ come to see me, instead of the other way around.

I received yet another dry chuckle from the elf.

"I shall cut straight to the chase, no?" he said. "We had a bit of a run in with our _dearly beloved_ Morrigan. Speaking of which, the witch was more dearly beloved than I had originally thought. Well, by some of us anyway."

He leered at me before waggling his eyebrows suggestively, his grin forever intact. Nallia had told him of the loveless night shared between the witch and me, it seemed.

I offered a great sigh. I knew this would come back to bite me in the arse. Just a matter of how hard and when had been the only unknown factors. I just hope Nallia's trust in the elf was not misguided.

Anyway, this was cutting straight to the chase? The elf had yet to tell me anything remotely substantial.

"To put it plainly, it did not end well," he continued.

Of course not, it's Morrigan; nothing ever does.

"Shock horror," I drawled.

I paced the length of my room twice, a frown on my face. I still failed to see where I came in. I finally rounded on him once more, an expecting look upon my face.

"Why did Nallia send you to tell me this?" I pressed. "What good does it do me knowing that you and she had a run in with that harpy?"

He gave a one-sided smirk.

"Nallia did not send me, I chose to get your help," he stated with a chuckle. "Do not be so surprised."

He received yet another frown on my behalf.

"Well, you're here and I'm listening; now's as good a time as any to ask for it," I stated.

Zevran pushed off from the banister of my bed, running a hand carefully through his light hair.

"I need help finding Morrigan," the elf said. "Well, finding her _again_."

Frowning, I gaped at the elf a little, somewhat taken aback by such a request.

"What?" I asked. "Why would you need to do such a thing? When she does not want to be found, she won't be. Believe me."

I'd had small search parties scouring this way and that for her for the first year of my crowning. I'd relented in the search quickly, however, upon having one of the said groups wiped out completely by a random encounter with a fire storm. A fire storm in the middle of winter left no question as to where, or more specifically _who_, it had truly originated from.

"Trust me in this, I did not particularily like the thought of asking for your help, but you're one of the only people I know that would not greet me with the pointy end of a knife," as an after thought he added; "Not to mention I can't go around telling people about Morrigan and her bastard child willy nilly, no? So, hear me out."

He took a deep breath, frowning.

"She stole something very important of Nallia's, so to speak," he replied ambiguously.

I frowned again. I wasn't enjoying the cryptic undertone of the usually blunt elf.

"What did the witch steal, Zevran? Come on, out with it," I pressed further. "Was it Nallia's favourite boots, her lunch money, what did Morrigan take?"

He avoided my gaze for a moment.

"Perhaps it's easier to show you, than to simply tell you, hmm?" he offered.

I glared. When the assassin was avoiding a topic it was usually bad. This did not bode well.

"Tell me, Zevran," I ordered of him.

He sighed, running a slender hand over his face in exasperation.

"We'd been tracking the witch for days. We'd known that we did not find hints of her whereabouts by our sheer skill alone, she was toying with us, leaving clues, and we knew it from the start. I think she figured she might as well lead us to her and then deal with us appropriately, who knows?" he explained. "Nallia, ever stubborn, pressed on despite her obvious clues and my many warnings. I don't know why it is that she was so intent on finding Morrigan and her child, she didn't tell me. She only said that it was important."

I only barely listened in on the assassin's now thorough explanation. Only one thought ran through my head, though, and that was 'what had she lost that had Zevran worried so?'

"We found her, that is for sure," he said bemusedly with a huff. "She had offered us but a single warning; telling us to leave. Of course, our dear girl did not listen. When does Nallia ever listen?"

He chuckled lightly, his affection for the other elf clear.

I felt my gut twist and ignored it as best as I could manage. In perfect synchrony, my heart hammered and I found myself cursing my betraying organs childishly.

"I am ashamed to admit that I did not last very long when the battle broke out," the elf confessed. "I had awoken much later to find no traces of the witch save for a terrible headache on my behalf, and Nallia sitting frightened in a corner."

Another frown broke out on my face, the only expression I was beginning to think myself capable of. Nallia was able to feel fear? I couldn't picture such a thing, choosing to simply put it down to Zevran exaggerating events as he was often guilty of doing.

"I do not know much about the Fade, nor do I pretend to. Leave it to the mages and the dead, if you ask me," he said.

What's this to do with the Fade, now? I know I'm not the sharpest person in the world, (I had my sword to accommodate for that), but I failed to see how the event was tied to the Fade in any way.

He paused, looking for the right words.

"You are an ex-templar, yes? You know of the tranquil? Their aspirations, their emotions, they are stripped of them until they are but a husk of their former selves," he started. "More hollowed out than even a golem."

She's tranquil? My little fire cracker, I used to call her. Had she had that stripped of her? Had Morrigan followed through with the inhumane ritual to punish her for going back on her promise?

Nallia would simply not _be_ Nallia anymore without her emotions.

"Nallia's become tranquil? I thought it could only be done to mages," I said uncertainly.

I cringed upon noticing the smile I received from the elf in reply to my weakly wavering voice.

"No, it can be done to any. You are sure you were a templar?" he questioned. "To answer your question, no, she was not made tranquil. Not _quite_ tranquil, anyway. I know not why Morrigan chose to do it, but she stole Nallia's memories. I think it was done in such the way the tranquil are made; a ritual of sorts. I asked Nallia what she remembered. All she remembered was a woman in her dream. I think Morrigan used the Fade to steal them from her."

Nallia didn't remember anything? She didn't remember her father in the alienage, she didn't remember Duncan and his unnecessary sacrifice, she didn't remember the unquestionably evil dark spawn, she didn't remember the Archdemon, and she didn't remember me.

Such a thing, however, did not _have_ to be a curse. Then again, was feeling nothing towards me any better than only unadulterated anger and hate?

I silently reprimanded myself upon thinking of it as a mixed blessing. I pushed such thoughts quickly aside. No, she would not be the Nallia that I knew without her memories. They were what made her who she truly was. They were what made her the woman I'd fallen in love with so long ago. Not to mention, she had so many enemies; she would be utterly defenceless.

"Why isn't she with you?" I pressed with concern. "You said she was in Denerim."

He frowned, as if he didn't understand my concern.

"She _is_ in Denerim," he repeated. "She said she wanted to have a look around the city whilst I conversed with you. I think she hopes to find something familiar; thus far she has had no luck. There is not a remnant of her memories left, it was done properly. Believe me; I am not so easily forgotten."

Again, he waggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing my blood to boil. He still knew how to effortlessly get under my skin, it seemed.

"You left her alone?" I asked in bewilderment. "She's a hero here. People will recognise her."

Zevran simply laughed heartily at my show of concern. And _I_ was apparently the group's idiot, yet here he was letting one of Ferelden's most _famous_ people wander around Ferelden's _busiest_ city without her damnable _**memory**_.

I took another calming breath. It didn't help much.

"She shall be fine, if not, her mutt is with her. So fear not, I warned her to keep her hood up. No one but we shall get to see her pretty face," he said with a shrug. "Besides, she said she did not like the look of the castle. It gave her the 'creeps' or something of the sorts, so I simply did not force her to come. Does that suffice, my king?"

He was mocking me; there was no doubt about it.

It really amazed me that Nallia had managed to stay alive thus long without her memory and Zevran caring for her. It did, however, bring me some comfort knowing that her ever loyal war hound was by her side.

Then it occurred to me…

I shook my head and laughed heartily, clapping the elf roughly on the back.

"Good one," I praised him. "I didn't think you had it in you, little guy. She put you up to this, didn't she? This is pay-back for all the terrible jokes I put you both through. You almost had me going for a moment there."

He rolled his eyes at me, offering a sigh.

"Yes, Alistair, you caught me," he replied, his tone dry and sarcastic. "Nallia and I travelled all the way to Ferelden after avoiding you for five years to pull a _prank_ on you. You are simply too good for me."

Hey, sarcasm is _my_ thing.

I sighed, my tone once more sombre.

"Well, it never hurts to hope," I said.

He gave another dry chuckle, offering a smirk.

"Untrue," Zevran replied. "Hope builds you up with unrealistic ideals and means you have further to fall when it all inevitably comes crashing down."

I gave a lop-sided grin, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"When did you become a pessimist?" I asked light-heartedly.

"Right about the time you became king," he retaliated with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Of the two, I think my pessimism is the least implausible."

Well played, my ―apparently― pessimistic old friend.

"Now that I've gotten five years of pent up and unappreciated joking out of the way," I started sarcastically, "I think it's high time I see this amnesic Nallia ―catchy nickname, right?― for myself. Truthfully, I'll only really believe it when I see it."

Yeah, if _that_ was five years worth of jokes I was really getting rusty. Oh well, I'd simply have to make up for lost time.

Despite the dire news Zevran had brought me and the imposing reunion with Nallia, I could not help but feel I'd get the chance to make up for lost time… and not just by telling more jokes.

* * *

Lots of dialogue, I know, but I hope you've bared with it and enjoyed it none the less.

Reviews are very appreciated, even if it is just to point out a flaw in my knowledge of Dragon Age lore, or writting a character out of character.

Thanks for reading.


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